The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  Zak scoffed.

  "Look, Bax, you don't need to go apeshit. You'd already submitted it to the magazine; James just saw to it the story got a second look."

  "The story was rejected, Zak. That was fine with me. I wrote it just to get Professor Milo's goat. It's total bullshit."

  "No, Bax. That's not what it is at all. That story serves a purpose. It makes people question what they think, it shakes them up. We need to do that."

  Baxter frowned. "We do? Look, Zak, I think you and your rich buddy are getting a little carried away here. I don't want any favors from Ashton or you. Stay out of my computer and stay out of my business. Got it?"

  Zak shook his head. "Yeah, Bax. I got it."

  FIVE

  NOW

  Baxter woke up. His body was a leaden thing, one solid ache. He strained to move but hours in the plane's upright seat had left his limbs numb, unresponsive. Each time he shifted his ribs scraped together or his spine popped. Cotton-mouthed, he cautiously rose and sought something to drink.

  "I thought you were dead."

  He forced his sticky eyes to focus. Annie sat across from him, her face unreadable. "Just wish I was."

  She watched him struggle. "You should be in the hospital."

  "Yeah? Tell them that." Baxter nodded towards the front of the jet.

  Annie nodded sadly. "Yeah, I know. They're not the most sympathetic captors, are they?"

  "They never were." At this they both grew silent. Outside the sky was blank, impartial to their plight. Baxter slowly twisted his wrists; the left popped loudly but the right one only made a grinding sound.

  "We're almost there."

  "Huh?" Baxter asked, turning. "How do you know?"

  She looked at him darkly. "I just do."

  Baxter frowned, remembering. "Oh, yeah. Right." He winced he as spoke. His spine was a smoldering rod, fused solid from his time in the seat. "Ow. Do you have anything for pain?"

  She shrugged in the negative.

  "Damn." Baxter wished for a drink.

  "I liked your books."

  "Oh? Thank you." It struck him as slightly off-topic but it was always nice to receive a compliment.

  "I guess you're doing well for yourself…" she began.

  "Well, all things considered." Baxter gestured at their surroundings.

  "No, that's not what I mean. You're… successful." Baxter noticed an unfamiliar note of jealousy in her voice.

  "I guess but more by default more than anything. It just kind of happened."

  Annie made a strange little noise in the back of her throat. Baxter began to grow uncomfortable. He didn't like where this was going. "Annie, I'm not exactly sure what you're getting at. If you bothered to read the back cover of my last book you know my life hasn't exactly been a bed of roses. Nothing I have came easy."

  She looked away. "I know, Baxter, I'm sorry. It's just… just that…"

  Baxter tried to rise and comfort her, but pain bolted him firmly into place. He could only watch as Annie vanished into the small bathroom, a single sob cut off by the closing of the door.

  ~*~

  Pittsburgh.

  Baxter wiped the steam from the window and watched the scenery stream by. It was snowing here, winter-like weather that hinted at the hard season to come. The shifting curtain of white played over the river, ghostly veils that both hid and revealed the city beyond. Pale squares of yellow light floated against monolithic blocks of shadow; traces of green and red neon glowed, feeble beacons winking in the gale. Spires and towers could be glimpsed, castles of metal and glass that continued unseen into the chasm of sky.

  "God, I hate this city," Adam muttered. Baxter chuckled quietly, pain piercing his left side. Wincing, he turned his face away so no one noticed.

  "We're only ten minutes away," Chloe said. She turned to Adam. "When we arrive, Baxter, Annie and I will go in and speak to Zachary. You will wait here."

  "I don't like it," Adam stated emphatically. "This bastard proved he can't be trusted; I should go with you."

  "No," Chloe replied curtly. "Zachary hates you. We wouldn't get a foot in the door if you were with us. Our driver will accompany us to make sure Baxter behaves."

  They entered into an especially-desolate section of town. Drab industrial buildings sat abandoned on either side of the wide street. Purposeless now, they stood lean and hungry, a gauntlet of ruin viewing the passing car through shattered eyes. Reaching the end of the street the driver took a left.

  "We're coming up on it now, Miss Sullivan," the driver's voice crackled through the intercom. A fenced-in area came into view, vast and impossibly bleak.

  "What is this - the city dump?" Adam asked, dubious.

  "It's a scrap-yard, actually," Chloe corrected, knotting her scarf. "Zak is currently living with his uncle, who owns this business. They reside in a building at the back of the lot."

  They drove slowly alongside the high fence. Lamplight revealed a desolate street scattered with debris; old engines, bald tires, crippled sawhorses face down in the snow. The car made fresh tracks approaching the gate, honking twice to announce itself. There was a long pause.

  "It's two a.m." Baxter said quietly. "I'm guessing they're closed."

  Chloe nodded curtly. "Yes, I'm sure they are. Get out of the car, Brother. Ring the bell."

  Resentfully Baxter did as he was told. He pressed an ungloved thumb against the cracked plastic buzzer, ringing it several times. For what seemed like forever nothing happened; Baxter shrugged to those watching from the warmth of the car. He felt like an idiot staring into their blank faces but it was short-lived: there was a flat metallic buzz and the gate slowly opened.

  Baxter walked alongside of the car as it slowly rolled forward. Sentry-like towers of rust stood at bent attention over the yard, where bicycles, bathtubs, old circus machinery and spent vending machines made impossible love beyond the judgment of the waking world. Dented CO2 tanks leaned heavily against old playground equipment. Lidless refrigerators lay beetle-like on their backs while a sideways file cabinet vomited mildewed papers beside the gutted whale of a bus.

  "Wow," Baxter said, whistling.

  "And there's the literary gift that's sold over three million books," Adam sniped.

  "Oh, go toss your hammer," Baxter replied dryly. Annie sighed.

  "Gentlemen, if you would cease your incessant bickering for one moment," Chloe requested, gesturing towards the stooped figure ambling towards them. She opened her window.

  "Hello, sir. Are you Abraham Andello?"

  The man leaned into the window. His face was long and worn. "No, Ma'am. He's back up in the house. Sleepin', most likely." He peered into the car's dim interior. "You all got business with him?"

  "With his nephew, actually. Do you mind if we go back?"

  The craggy man scratched his head absentmindedly. "If they're expecting ya I guess you c'n go back."

  "Thank you," Chloe said brightly.

  The car drove on, slowly making its way through the maze of corroded metal. Weird objects dwarfed them: huge conical bores, massive oil-stained gears, a twelve-foot tall Elby's Big Boy with a crack through his head. Baxter glanced at Annie. She looked shaken, ready to bolt. Well, that made two of them. The car rounded a corner and the house came into view.

  "What the fuck is that supposed to be?" Adam laughed blackly.

  It was hard to determine what the building's original purpose was; perhaps it had been built as a garage or stable, though extensive modification and the passing of time now made it impossible to say. Long and narrow, it filled the back of the yard, its walls only inches away from the chain-link fence that enclosed the entire lot. The structure was low, sunken, a single story (though a smallish second-floor addition seemed to have been recently added at the back.) Rusted tin covered the building, peeling back or eaten away completely to reveal ancient wood beneath. The place was a firetrap, surely uninhabitable, but the light burning within said otherwise.

  "All right. This shouldn't t
ake too long either way," Chloe said ominously. "I will call the car if there is a problem." The nameless driver opened her door and Chloe slipped out, with Baxter and Annie following.

  "So what makes you think Zak is going to go along with this?" Baxter asked Chloe as they approached the building.

  "Zachary has always understood the need for his participation. He has joined us freely in the past; I see no reason tonight will be an exception." Baxter was surprised at the confidence in the woman's voice. Perhaps Chloe knew something she wasn't saying.

  "I wanted to ask you," Baxter said quietly, that only Chloe might hear. "How did you and Adam stop that… thing back on the island?"

  Chloe replied without turning. "I used the Voorish sign; it was the most expedient method."

  "Huh. So where'd you get the blood?"

  Chloe stopped and looked at him. "I always travel with a ready supply on hand. Just in case." She walked on.

  Now what could she mean by that?

  "Knock, please," Chloe gestured to him once they'd reached the porch. Baxter did as he was directed, rapping three times on the rickety door. From within came the sound of movement, but long moments passed until the door was finally opened.

  "Yes?" The old man glared at them. Shrunken as if to fit his low home, he leaned heavily on the bent aluminum rod he used as a cane. He stared expectantly at Baxter. “Well?" he demanded. "Speak up, nephew! You're letting all the heat out!"

  "We, uh… we're here to see Zak."

  "Zak?" the old man crackled suspiciously. "Whaddaya want with 'im?"

  "We're his friends, sir"

  The old man squinted at them. "Now that I doubt very much, son. Very much."

  Baxter was at a loss; Chloe stepped forward. "We knew Zachary back in college, sir. We were dropping by as a surprise, he doesn't know we're coming. Is there any way we might see him?"

  The old man eyed Chloe and the driver warily. "I don't think so, missy. Zachary don't want to see anyone these days, least of all you folk. You'd best be gettin' on."

  Chloe's smile tightened. "Please, sir. It's very important we talk to your nephew…"

  "It's very important you get the hell off my lot! I ain't trifling with you folk. Go on now."

  Baxter shifted uncomfortably. The air around them thinned, grew charged. An icy blast of wind blew past Chloe, into the old man and through the door. "I said let us in," she hissed, her eyes flashing.

  The old man sagged, but stood his ground. From within a pocket his fumbling fingers withdrew a small object. It was a chunk of what appeared to be ivory, carved to represent a youth's head crowned with laurel. He thrust this out before him. "An' I said git!"

  Chloe looked at the small totem with a mixture of surprise and revulsion, but did not move one way or the other. The driver began inching towards them, but Chloe stopped him with a gesture, never taking her eyes off of what the old man clutched in his trembling fingers. She seemed to bear down, her brow furrowing, her lips pulling back to show her teeth. The wind blew harder, colder as it tore past.

  The old man bent, first dropping his cane and then the totem. Then he himself fell, dropping hard to his bony knees. They shattered, a brittle splintering audible above the gale. The old man's face contorted with pain though no sound escaped his lips. He tried weakly to retrieve the totem but the driver's booted foot beat him to it. It came down hard, crushing the artifact to powder. The wind swept it into the old man's face, filling his mouth and nostrils, freezing it into his tears. He collapsed defeated into the gathering snow.

  Chloe seemed to be having a problem. Though the old man was down she continued to pour it on, pulling a tide of frost across the porch and into the house. Within papers flew, tables toppled, windows cracked. The entire structure began to creak ominously, the walls shaking, its lights flickering.

  "Okay, Chloe, I think you've made your point!" Baxter shouted into the wind. But Chloe was beyond hearing him. The light had gone out of her eyes; only darkness stared back, twin mirrors of the Abyss winking hungrily. "Oh, fuck…" Baxter stepped back, slipping in the spreading slick of ice. He landed hard amidst the fluttering junk that filled the porch. Baxter struggled to rise but the wind kept him pinned. Above he heard the distinct sound of splitting timber; the porch roof was about to come down. He rolled to one side and covered his head with his hands.

  The collapse never came. The wind died down as quickly as it had begun; snow fell lazily again, drifting down to cover the storm-scoured porch. Baxter looked up. Adam stood at Chloe's side, speaking quietly into her ear. She leaned against him for support. A stunned silence had fallen over the scene, broken only by a voice from the doorway. "What the hell, guys?"

  ~*~

  The man in the wheelchair was Zachary Andello, though Baxter would have never believed it. The thick black hair Zak had once been so proud of was now white as the wintered world outside. His young frame was sunken, twisted in on itself like some blighted tree. Even his eyes had changed, their spark shuttered. What in the world had happened to his friend?

  "We need to talk to you, Zak," Chloe began. "We have a very good reason for being here…"

  "I should hope so. You broke in, assaulted my uncle, nearly destroyed my home. I can't wait to hear it."

  Chloe made a small gesture. Adam and the driver looked at each other, then left the cluttered room. After a moment Chloe spoke. "Our work has been undone. Something has unknit the bindings. We need to reassemble the circle, perform the ritual again. This time steps are being taken to ensure its effects are permanent."

  Zak nodded almost imperceptibly. "All right. I want to talk to Baxter. Give me five minutes. Then I'll tell you if I'm going or not."

  It was an absurd statement. Zak was clearly in no position to resist, and yet Chloe was eager to placate. She left the room wordlessly.

  "So how ya been, Bax?" Zak asked with exaggerated friendliness.

  Baxter only shook his head. "I dunno, man. Just taking my lumps like the rest of us." Baxter found himself unable to articulate his thoughts any further. Being thrown together with everyone again after seven years, it left him numb seeing what time had done to them. Everyone had been changed, and all for the worse. And still there was the matter of Ashton. Baxter noted Zak eyeing him carefully.

  "You look like hell, buddy."

  Baxter laughed, then winced in pain. "I was... on vacation. Out of the country. I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I left no paper trail, used an alias, paid for everything with cash, and still they found me. I was attacked by – something." Baxter showed Zak the angry red burns where the coarse hemp had wound around his wrists. "They used it to soften me up, then dragged me off in the night. With Annie there was no such pretense; we just showed up and she caved. Erica is with them, or so they say. She's probably there already, at the manor." Baxter cocked his head, listening. "Do you hear that?"

  Zak looked at him sadly. "Yes, I hear it."

  "Is that..?" Baxter's face went white.

  "Yeah, I'm afraid it is," Zak confirmed, nodding his wizened head. With the flip of a switch the chair rolled forward; Zak snagged a pack of cigarettes from the desk.

  "It's been with me ever since our little sleep-over party," he said, his voice leaden. "It comes and goes, popping up at the most inopportune times. Makes it tough to get laid."

  Baxter looked at his friend helplessly. "Zak, what's happened to you?"

  While artlessly worded Baxter's question hit the nail on the head.

  "It's called ubisiosis or Calmar's Syndrome. A neurological disorder. Think of it as a nasty computer virus, worming its way through my operating system, eating programming away at random, leaving nothing but chaos behind."

  "Your doctors. What can they do about it?"

  Zak gave him a bittersweet smile. "Well, they get a nice chunk of funding for studying it; I get enough painkillers to kill Elvis ten times over." He rolled in close. "You look like you could use a few."

  Baxter touched the bandage on his head, ignored the p
ain in his ribs.

  "Nah, I'm fine. Zak... I'm sorry."

  Zak shook his head. "Don't be. I don't need your sympathy, Bax. I need your co-operation. You'll need to do the leg-work for both of us now."

  There was hushed discussion among the two men. Time passed; at the end of five minutes Chloe and the driver returned to Zak's room.

  "All right, I'm ready," Zak said, closing his laptop. He slipped it into its leather carrying case, then placed the case in a large pocket on the side of his chair. The chair rolled forward, carrying him over to a low hook where his coat hung. He struggled into it, biting down on his lower lip in concentration. "Okay, folks. Let's roll."

  Chloe's smile froze. "Wait a minute…where's Baxter?"

  "He went downstairs; had to use the bathroom," Zak said evenly. "Didn't you see him?"

  And though they searched for over an hour they never found Baxter Knowles. By then he was long gone.

  THEN

  "I've heard this song before."

  Zak looked at his roommate skeptically. "I really doubt that, Bax. These guys are strictly underground."

  Baxter leaned forward in his seat. The music was damnably familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. "Hmm. Are you sure it wasn't used in a car commercial or something? I swear I've heard it before." Zak laughed. "Not that I know of. You're probably thinking of something else."

  But Baxter was not so easily convinced. He listened closely. Though set to the typical driving beat of most club music, it was the underlying melody that caught his ear. Played on a stringed instrument of some kind, it was a reel of sorts, a herky-jerky thing that seemed to move in and out of time with the beat. It rose and fell, a sinuous lilt snaking its way through the dense sonic bramble, rolling forward, falling back, threatening to collapse at any time.

  "That melody sounds like Eastern European folk music or something."

  Zak offered Baxter a glossy cardboard sleeve. "It's one of the records James gave me. He picked it up last month when he was over in Switzerland; it's super-popular over there."